


Past, Present, ... And Future

by derwent



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic, Insecurity, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 09:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21195698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derwent/pseuds/derwent
Summary: The ghost of Ann Smiley lingers, but as time passes, it looms over them less and less.





	Past, Present, ... And Future

**Author's Note:**

> A mix of book and film canon. Basically, I visualize the characters mainly based on the film, but details and others are mainly book-based.

The first time Peter stumbled upon the trace of Ann Smiley, he was shocked by the force of his jealousy. The pair of gloves lay inside the drawer in the hallway. It seemed to have been thrown inside carelessly, peeking out from behind a small can of shoe polish.

Peter would punch anyone suggesting it, but deep down, he was insecure still. It was only a couple of years after the Smileys’s divorce, less than a year after he and George entered into this tentative relationship they had, and only a few months after Peter started to regularly spend the night at Bywater Street.

George and Ann had been married for almost 20 years. She left him again and again, Lord knows how many times, and still George was there to welcome her back with open arms. True, they had finally got divorced, but who could really tell George’s true feelings? 

And Peter had had his share of men like that. Men who went on discreet dates with him, who fucked him in rooms above bars, only to apologise later and say that they couldn’t bear to lose their children, wouldn’t want to hurt their wives. It always ended with Peter back in an empty flat with an empty bottle of whisky on the table beside his chair. Richard had been a rare exception. His quiet, steady presence beside Peter had been a port of calm amid the turbulent sea that was the Circus life.

Their relationship was too new still for Peter to be sure of how George felt about him. Was Peter merely a decent companion? Someone who could be trusted to be discreet, reliable, not flighty like Ann was? Was George as invested in this relationship as Peter was?

He felt powerless for not knowing. A feeling akin to what he felt when he had to decide whether to send one of his scalphunters out to the field when he didn’t have enough intelligence. And it was why he dumped the gloves into the bin, hidden underneath the takeaway boxes. The guilt that ambushed him after felt like the cold muzzle of a gun pressed into his rib. Peter made up a flimsy excuse that night and escaped to his own flat. 

*

The envelope from his tailor lay between a letter from an old friend in Oxford and a letter renewing his subscription to a journal on German poetry. They were stacked neatly on the mantelpiece; courtesy of Peter who had volunteered to come over and tidy the house so that George could rest without worry. There had been a minor crisis that week. George either slept in the office or in Peter’s flat, which was closer to the Circus. The crisis had been solved, but not without tense exchange with Lacon and the Minister, leaving George frayed and on edge still. 

He brought the envelope with him to the sofa. Inside was a bill for a new suit. Exhausted as he was, George was sure that he hadn’t visited his tailor recently and certainly hadn’t ordered a new suit. His first thought was, _who else has Ann shacked up with, for God’s sake?_

And then he remembered that after the divorce a notice had been sent to his tailor, so it couldn’t have been Ann. George felt foolish. It had been a long week, yes, but it was no excuse for the lapse in his memory.

The only other person who knew the address of his tailor was Peter, so it must’ve been him who ordered the suit. But for whom? Peter had his own tailor. George was ashamed to admit that his first thought was to remember all the time Ann had ordered bespoke suits for her lovers and added it to his bill. 

A partial observer would point out that considering the pattern of infidelity in his previous relationship, it was to be expected and quite normal for George to react the way he did. But George Smiley was too humble a man to let himself off the hook with what he considered a poor excuse, so he berated himself anyway.

The front door opened, and in came Peter with hands full of the takeaway meal they ordered on the way home. He pushed the door closed with his shoulder and went straight to the kitchen. George followed. Peter was busy setting up the table, so it was a few moments before he noticed George standing awkwardly in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow. “Is something the matter?”

“Just that there was a bill from my tailor. Did I order a new suit, Peter? I can’t seem to remember,” George asked, hoping Peter wouldn’t notice the mix of apprehension and guilt in his voice.

“Oh, that.” Peter returned to the table. “I took the liberty to order it, for your meeting with the Parliamentary Committee next month. I thought a new suit would help a bit.” Then Peter looked up, and George saw doubt in his eyes. “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t? I’m sorry if I overstepped.” His hands stopped fixing the plates.

Something shifted inside George. He went to the table and began to help Peter with the cutlery. “Not at all,” he looked up and smiled. Peter returned his smile with one of his own. “Was just surprised, that’s all. Thank you, Peter.”

Peter nodded, and they sat down to dinner.

Later, lying in bed with Peter’s arm flung across his torso, George finally identified the unfamiliar feeling he felt since hearing Peter’s explanation. He wondered what did it say about him, that he needed some time to realise that he was being taken care of.

*

Only a few of the furniture would accompany them to their new home. Others were carefully draped in white sheets to protect them for dust; the new owner had bought them together with the house. Clothes, books, cutlery, and all the other equipment of everyday life were packed neatly in boxes. George sat on the sofa, stacks of paper beside him. He wrote down the contents of a box, then glued the paper to the outside, so that it’d be easier to find things. 

They finalised the deal last week. The cottage was a lovely one-story building on the Cornish cliff. Peter was the one who suggested the area. It stood alone and when one gazed at the sea, one could hardly discern where the sea ended and the sky begun. The road to the cottage was a bit rough, but it was decent enough for Peter’s car to travel. George thought the sports car was too vulgar for the countryside, but he refrained from saying anything to Peter. 

The man himself showed up at the doorway. He was carrying a stack of books on one hand and a paperweight on the other. Peter gently put the books next to George on the sofa. George took another empty box and began arranging the books inside. 

He looked up and saw Peter turning the paperweight around in his hands. It was a small wooden geometric-shaped thing with 'GS' engraved on one side. “It’s lovely,” Peter said.

George nodded. “Yes, I suppose it is. Ann had it made as a gift.” 

Peter hummed. “Good taste,” he replied. Now they could speak Ann’s name freely, easily, without the past hovering around them. Had been so for the last few years, now that he thought of it. 

Peter couldn’t remember the exact time when the ghost of Ann Smiley had slipped out of their lives. Neither could he remember the time when he stopped being insecure over their relationship. The assurance simply grew slowly, over hectic days at the Circus and quiet nights at home.

He passed the paperweight to George and watched George put it inside the box, closed the box and sealed it with tape. It no longer bothered Peter to think that a piece of Ann would go with them to their new home. 

He caught George’s eyes and smiled, and was rewarded with George’s own smile. In a couple of days they would climb into Peter’s car and drive to their cottage. There would be remnants of Ann, of the Circus, of their lives before; they could not leave those behind, not more than they could erase parts of themselves. For better and for worse, those things made up the parts of their whole beings. And Peter loved all parts of George, even those that he wished George hadn’t had to endure. 

In a couple of days they’d walk inside their new home and start afresh. Or at least as fresh as two aging spies like them could have. Peter looked forward to all the new memories they would make, and in George’s eyes, he could see that George did too.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic after years of not writing. I also just recently got into this fandom. Therefore, constructive criticism is welcome!


End file.
